


It's Been A While

by Dangit



Series: Song Fics [9]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Counseling, Hopeful Ending, Multi, Recuperation, Song fic, Time Skips, mental health, things are getting better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangit/pseuds/Dangit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And it's been awhile<br/>Since I could hold my head up high<br/>And it's been awhile<br/>Since I first saw you."<br/>-Staind</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been A While

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!!! So this is the next-to-last chapter in this series. Thank you all for giving it a chance, and hopefully, I'll see you in the last and final chapter!!

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I could hold my head up high_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I first saw you_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I could stand on my own two feet again_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I could call you_

* * *

The urge is still there. Underneath his skin, skittering like ants traveling through his veins. It’s a feeling at the back of his throat, an imaginary dryness begging him for water. It’s that desperate feeling that you get when you hold your breath for a really long time, that pressure in your lungs begging you to _breathe_.

And it’s there all the time.

It’s not a feeling he can just _ignore…_ it feels more like giving up. That futility that you face at the end of your last breath, that feeling of knowing you’re going to die and there’s nothing you can do about it…that’s what it feels like.

“Sounds about right,” Sanji says when Zoro shares his thoughts. “This version of you will die, and you’ll be born again. Stronger.”

It’s such a trite line that of course Zoro has to poke fun at him for using it, but he finds comfort in it. Sanji always talks like Zoro’s recovery is a sure thing. All of his friends— _friends,_ the word feels alien in his lips—don’t seem to even think there’s a possibility Zoro will break again. Their confidence in him is, frankly, a bit frightening. And yet, oddly soothing.

They visit him often. They all have their own lives to live, own problems to deal with, but Zoro gets at least one visitor a day. Brook comes every day, _has_ been coming every day since the beginning, and Zoro finds himself waiting on Brook to arrive first thing in the morning. Chopper, too, visits him often. He’s his doctor, he kind of has to, but there are days when Zoro only gets visits from nurses. Chopper is a busy man, his specialty is not rehabilitation, and the only reason why he’s Zoro’s attending physician is because he offered.

“He _begged_ to,” Usopp corrects when Zoro asks. “And you know how Chopper gets when he wants something. No one can tell him no.”

And so it seems. Zoro finds himself agreeing to things he rather not whenever Chopper looks at him with those pleading eyes. He’s already a man, twenty-one years old, and he still has Zoro eating from the palm of his hands. He wonders for a moment if Chopper is aware of the feelings of protectiveness he causes inside of Zoro.

He used to be embarrassed by such feelings, but now he’s grateful for them. They’re a lot better than the ugly, twisted things he felt before. Just thinking of the way he spoke to Chopper, the spite and loathing that dripped from his voice with every word he directed at the young man…it makes the urge to forget stronger.

So he doesn’t think about it. Anything to keep himself from satisfying that urge.

It takes two weeks to completely detox from Koro, and Zoro doesn’t remember much of that time. After that’s done, he spends another week in an isolated room, but then gets transferred back to his old room. He even gets a neighbor for a few days, though the man gets released rather quickly.

Another week, and Chopper decides it’s time for his bandages to come off.

“Your stitches should be healed by now,” Chopper says as he helps him sit up on bed. “I think we won’t have to cover them up anymore.”

“So his wounds are all healed?” Sanji asks curiously. It’s his turn to visit. His friends keep a pretty good schedule on when they come, and Sanji always comes on Thursdays, which is weird because last Zoro remembers, Sanji’s days off where Monday. Brook is here, too, of course. He’s always here.

“No, that takes a lot longer,” Chopper says as he starts unwrapping the bandages around Zoro’s head. “Superficially, they are, but both wounds were pretty deep. It’s going to take many months for his muscles to heal from such a crude puncture. That means no working out, you hear?”

“I know,” Zoro mutters. When was the last time he worked out? He can’t recall.

“Lift your arms up, let me get around your chest.”

Zoro obeys, lifting his arms and staring at a point across the room while Chopper takes off the bandages around his torso. He hasn’t looked at his body yet. He always looks away when the nurses change his dressings and no one has offered him a mirror to look at the scar on his eye. He panicked at the beginning, when he first woke up and half of his view was missing, but he’s used to it now.

It’s not much of a difference, and it only ever bothers him when he gets startled by somebody standing on his blind side. His hearing has gotten better, though. Chopper said it had something to do with his lost of sight or something, Zoro didn’t really pay attention.

He trusts Chopper to know what he’s doing.

“Hmm. There’s no swelling and most of the sutures have already dissolved. There’s some scabbing…it’s going to start getting itchy soon, but don’t scratch. You’re already going to have some pretty heavy scarring without picking at your scabs. Well, it all looks pretty healthy,” Chopper declares. “I don’t think they’ll reopen unless you do some serious heavy lifting, so I guess we can start letting you do mild physical activity. We don’t want you going lethargic.”

“When was the last time you got off bed?” Brook asks curiously.

“Never,” Zoro says. “Well, I stood up when I switched beds a couple weeks ago, but that was like two seconds.”

“You can start taking walks around the floor,” Chopper says. “Though…I guess now that you’re mobile, the hospital will assigned a guard to you. Um, you _are_ under arrest, after all.”

Zoro nods. He knows Robin is working on something, but she can’t talk about it with him. He doesn’t doubt for a second that she can help him get out of this one, but he’s not sure that he wants to. He did pretty messed up things in his life, and it’s not fair to not pay for them.

Prison time is the least thing he deserves.

For turning kids into druggies, for ruining the lives of innocents, for beating the crap out of teenagers and poor bastards who were as addicted as him.

He shivers, unused to the cold air of the hospital hitting his bare skin.

“Oh, I forgot! Let me get you something to wear,” Chopper says. “Do you want to…um, do you need a mirror?”

Zoro glances at Chopper, surprised. Ah, he should do that. It’s about time he looked at himself. He doesn’t want to, but he needs to stop being a fucking coward and face the reality.

“Yeah,” he answers.

The cut in his eye doesn’t hurt, he hardly ever feels it. But the one in his chest aches and itches, it’s a constant reminder of everything he went through—is still going through.

Chopper hands him a wide hand-mirror and just like ripping off a band-air, he brings it up to look at himself.

It’s not…much. It’s not grotesque or anything like that. It simply looks like his eye is closed, maybe winking. There’s a thin, pink line running straight down his face, starting a little bit below his cheekbones and reaching almost to his hairline.

“I…sewed the eye shut,” Chopper says. “To prevent from infection. Um, you’ve lost all feeling around that eye, but the nerve itself is fine. We didn’t have to take…anything out.”

Zoro nods, then brings the mirror down to look at his chest. Ah, now this is what he expected.

Angry red and jagged, the wound looks like it was stitched back together by shaking hands. It looks like something Zoro would have done himself, something someone unexperienced would have done.  It’s thick and long, starting from beneath his left collarbone and running diagonally to stop at his right hip, the skin tender and just a bit swollen.

“Well, at least now you got something going for you,” Sanji suddenly says, grabbing Zoro’s attention. “You know, the scar distracts from you ugly face.”

“I find it quite dashing,” Brook pipes in. “Mysterious and cool!”

“Both of you are idiots,” Zoro snaps flatly, but he’s pretty sure he’s smiling.

 

Sometimes it gets really bad. Sometimes it’s so much, he can’t stand it. He makes entire plans in his head, learns the nurses’ schedule, learns the time when his guards switch shifts (tries to learn the layout of the hospital, but it keeps changing), and learns at what times his friends come to visit. Everything, carefully filed in his mind, used to plan the best possible route to sneak into the hospital’s medicine storage and steal a couple bottles of Vicodin. A vial of morphine. Valium. Xanax. Anything to numb the pain.

He plans it all, perfectly. It’s like a movie in his mind, a well-orchestrated dance. He can see everything, can picture every single step…including what will happen afterwards.

He can picture his friends’ faces. Chopper’s shock, Luffy’s disappointment, Nami’s anger. He can picture Franky shaking his head, and Robin staring at him with cool, eyes icy. Can picture the slight understanding in Brook’s face, and the nervous shift of Usopp’s eyes. Can picture quite clearly the insults Sanji will hurl at him, the hurt in his voice.

And sometimes it hurts so much to think about it, he almost wants to go ahead with his plans. Numb it all down. But he always waits too long. He always waits until the nurse comes, until Brook arrives, bright and early, until the guards stop talking and change shifts.

He waits and grits his teeth, berating himself for not going through with it, for not numbing the pain. But no matter how much it hurts to hate himself for not satisfying this hunger, it can never hurt more than seeing the hate in his friends’ eyes.

It’s seeing them every day that keeps him sane. It’s their daily visits, their blind devotion. He doesn’t want to let them down. Not again.

Robin visits him least of all. He knows she can get in trouble for speaking with him, since technically, he’s under arrest and Robin is the officer who arrested him. Conflict of interests or something like that. But Robin is Robin and Zoro’s pretty sure she can do whatever she wants.

She gets away with everything.

“The judge will make his decision tomorrow,” Robin tells him. She’s seated on the uncomfortable chair next to his bed, Franky fast asleep on the sofa placed against the wall. It’s late, well past midnight, but Zoro doesn’t feel tired at all.

“How long do you think he’s giving me?” Zoro asks quietly. He’s well aware Capital Punishment is legal in Georgia. It’ll be kind of poetic, if he’s forced to pay for his mistakes with death by a drug.

“Oh, not long at all,” Robin says, completely surprising him. “Perhaps three years?”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“I found the information you kept on Doflamingo, Zoro,” Robin says quietly. “It led to the arrest of Marshall D. Teach and Charlotte Linlin. Kaido is on the run, but it won’t be long until we catch him.”

He faintly remembers amassing information on Doffy’s interactions with those drug lords. “What about Gladius? I killed him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but it was self-defense,” Robin says. “You saved the life of three agents that night.”

Did he? He doesn’t remember? Everything is a blur. Whatever he did back then, it certainly was never out of the goodness of his heart. He was only looking after himself, only trying to get the next hit. He doesn’t deserve to rewarded for something like that.

“Zoro…it was a mistake,” Robin says softly. “You did a mistake, that’s all. You will do your time, but that doesn’t mean you need to be condemned for life. There are other ways to pay for your mistakes.”

“You think so?” Zoro asks quietly.

“I know so,” Robin answers immediately. Zoro cannot read anything but honesty in her voice, her gaze surprisingly gentle. “Maybe you don’t know how yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

Perhaps Robin is right. Perhaps life in prison is looking at the easy way out. He needs to do more with his time, he need to achieve something greater. He cannot die so easily, not after everything he’s done wrong.  He’ll just have to figure it out.

* * *

  _And everything I can't remember_

_As fucked up as it all may seem_

_The consequences that I've rendered_

_I've stretched myself beyond my means_

* * *

 He expects to hear the judge’s decision from Robin. Brook comes in early in the morning, punctual as always, but Zoro can hardly concentrate on the conversation, his mind on Robin.

“Are you feeling alright, Zoro?” Brook asks, startling him.

Zoro looks at his friend, realizing he hasn’t heard anything of what Brook was just saying, and blushes. “Uh, sorry, Brook. It’s just…Robin is coming later on with news about…the court’s decision.”

Brook nods in understanding. “Ah yes. I think Franky mentioned it in passing. It’s not scheduled until noon, so we still have some time. No need to worry so much, Zoro.”

“I know,” Zoro sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s not like I care how long they give me.”

“Perhaps we’re biased, but all of us would like for you to get as little time as possible,” Brook says quietly. “Please know that, Zoro.”

Yeah, he knows. They keep telling him. It makes him feel guilty as hell, especially when he thinks back to the times he thought they didn’t care at all, but it’s nice to hear it out loud. It’s nice to see Nami worrying, her words sharp as ever but her eyes soft. It’s nice to hear Luffy’s chatter, his bright personality not diminished at all by the gloom surrounding Zoro.

It’s a bit annoying to have Franky hover over him all the time like an over-protective brother, but he knows the man means well. And well, that also feels nice, if he’s being honest with himself.

It’s awkward to be around Sanji, especially since he has no idea where he stands now with the blond. Are they friends? Ex-lovers? Are they simply people that hang in the same group?

Is Sanji visiting him out of guilt?

Does it hurt the blond to see him as much as it hurts Zoro? Sanji said he loved him…but he also said that he would choose his daughter over everything else. And Zoro _gets_ that. He understands, for he would feel the same way if their positions were reserved.

And it makes sense for Sanji to keep his distance. After all, who wants a drug-addict around their children? What kind of life can Sanji lead with his daughter if he has someone like Zoro around?

Life is not fair, it’s never picture perfect, and sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. And in this case, Sanji is sacrificing his happiness with Zoro for that of his daughter’s.

Zoro respects that. Sanji wouldn’t be the person he fell in love with if he hadn’t made that choice.

“Thanks, Brook,” Zoro answers quietly, giving his friend what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Knowing Robin, I may even walk free.”

“Here’s to hoping!” Brook exclaims, laughing loudly.

Zoro keeps the smile on his face, even though it probably looks forced as hell, and tries to focus a little more on his conversation with Brook. The man clearly notices his distraction though, because he leaves soon after, promising like he does always, to come back tomorrow.

The clock already marks fifteen minutes to twelve, so it’s only a matter of a few hours before Robin arrives.

But the person that enters the room later is not Robin. It’s Mihawk.

Zoro startles, his first instinct to protect himself, but his arm is halfway up when he remembers he doesn’t have his swords with him.

No, his swords, all three of them, are in Mihawk’s arms.

“Looking for these?” the man asks, smirking faintly.

“I…where did you get them?”

“This one I took after I cut you down,” Mihawk answers, his gaze on Wado. “The other two were taken with the rest of your belongings after your arrest. They were being kept at the station, but I thought you would like to see them.”

Zoro doesn’t speak as Mihawk approaches him, placing the three swords on his lap before he takes the seat next to his bed.

They’re heavy, heavier than he remembers. Wado is clean, as pure white as she’s ever been, and he can almost imagine her bursting with pride, her blade glinting in the sunlight. Kitetsu trembles, his trouble-child, and Zoro is sure that if he were to open the scabbard, that blade would cut him. Shusui is quiet, tranquil and calm, haughty as ever.

“Thank you,” Zoro murmurs.

“They’re beautiful swords,” Mihawk says. “I was quite surprised to see them in the possession of someone like you.”

Zoro laughs hollowly. Yeah, they’re too good for him. All three of them, excellent swords deserving of a better master. “They were all gifts,” Zoro explains. “Perhaps they’ve never been mine.”

“Who gave them to you?” Mihawk asks curiously.

“This is Shusui,” Zoro starts, touching the beautiful scabbard. “She was a gift from her previous owner. She’s a bit heavier than any previous sword I’ve wielded, but she’s strong. Powerful.”

“A bit of a temper on her,” Mihawk adds and Zoro snorts.

“That’s an understatement.” It’s surprisingly nice to talk about this with Mihawk. No one else, save maybe Brook to some degree, understands the connection Zoro has with his swords. They’re not just objects to him, they’re an extension of who he is.

It still hurts to think he was so willing to part with them before.

“Sandai Kitetsu. A friend of mine spent a whole summer tracking her down,” Zoro begins, his eyes on the red scabbard. “He read online about these swords that were supposedly cursed. This one was the last one made, weaker of the three. She’s problematic, a bit bloodthirsty, but I have yet to see one sharper.”

“And the white one?”

“Wado Ichimonji,” Zoro says, reverently. “She’s a family heirloom, passed down generations to the women in my family. According to my father, she was made for one of my ancestors, one of the few female samurai of her time, a master of blades. She was…a gift to my sister, but after her death, my father passed it on to me.”

“I have heard of your great-grandmother,” Mihawk says, surprising him. “She was indeed a glorious warrior, if history is to be believed. Was you sister good with a blade?”

“She was the best.” Zoro stares at Wado, running his fingers softly down the white sheath. “She was undefeated in all her time as a fighter. No matter the age, the strength, or the size of her opponent, she beat them down. She…she wanted to take your title, you know. If she hadn’t died, I’m sure she would have succeeded.”

Mihawk’s gaze is intense, the yellow of his eyes almost glowing. It’s a penetrating gaze, one made to lock its prey in place. “And you, Roronoa Zoro? Why do you wield this blade?”

Zoro opens his mouth, but the answer is stuck in his throat. Why? He does it because of Kuina. He does it because it was her dream, because he promised to fulfill it for her. He does it because no one else will, because a dream like that doesn’t deserve to die.

“Do you know why I let you live?” Mihawk asks quietly and Zoro shakes his head. “I did it because there was fire in your eyes. There was strength in your blade. You have talent, and you also have spirit. Do not waste your time trying to achieve someone else’s dream. What do _you_ want?”

What does he want? He’s always wanted to be like Kuina. He wanted her to be proud, he wanted to be a great fighter, just like her. He wanted to win at least one battle against her.

He wanted to beat her….be better than her.

He wants…to be better than her. He never thought he could, never believed he would beat her, not the two thousand and one times that they fought. He always stopped himself short, never believed in himself. And after her death…when he continued to want the title of the best, it felt like he was stealing Kuina’s dream. It felt like he was trying to forget her, like he was denying everything that she accomplished.

“I want to be strong,” Zoro whispers. “Stronger than her. Stronger than you.”

It seems the answer satisfies Mihawk. The man nods, face impassive, and takes the swords from Zoro’s lap. “I’m going back to Russia tomorrow,” Mihawk begins. “You will be transferred to a rehabilitation facility in two days, and you will stay there for eighteen months. After, you will be transferred back to Detroit, where you will serve thirty months at Impel Down. The judge believed it was apt for you to pay for your crimes in the city you committed them.”

Zoro nods, resigned. “Four years? Is that all I got?”

Mihawk smirks. “It’s a maximum-security prison, Zoro. Four years in there are still hell compared to anywhere else.”

“You don’t think I deserve more?” Zoro asks, smirking slightly. He’s heard of Impel Down, he knows how hellish it can be.

Mihawk shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The only reason you’re not serving a life sentence is because of Robin. You don’t have the option for early release, but if you act out in any way—anger a guard, get into a fight, _anything—_ your sentence will be extended.”

“I understand.” He’s not going to cause any trouble. He’s planning on keeping his head down and his mouth shut. He’ll do his four years, and then with his friends’ help, figure out a way to right his wrongs.

“Very well. I’ll be seeing you in four years, Roronoa.”

Zoro nods again, and then the words sink in. “Wait, what?”

“I do not accept challenges from weaklings, so make sure you’re stronger by the time you seek me out,” Mihawk says, and with that, leaves.

Zoro stares after him, mouth agape. Then looks down at his hands, calloused from years of hard and strenuous training. His body is covered in faint scars from the many times he practiced with real swords instead of wooden ones like his father ordered. He still remembers the way his mouth would bleed after training all day with Wado between his teeth. How hard it was to learn to use his right hand, having to force himself to use his non-dominant hand every day to learn ambidexterity. He remembers the ache of his muscles, the way his entire body felt like lead for an entire week because he forced himself to train harder, always harder, every single day.

And now, he misses it.

Defeat Mihawk. Perhaps it’s not as impossible a dream as he thought, after all.

* * *

  _And it's been awhile_

_Since I can say that I wasn't addicted_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I can say I love myself as well_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do_

_And it's been awhile_

_But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you_

* * *

 He’s not supposed to get visitors, but the rule isn’t really enforced. The guards standings watch at his door greet Robin warmly when she arrives with the rest of the crew, ready to say their goodbyes before Zoro is transferred to the rehabilitation institution.

Well, Sanji is missing. But he had to stay behind to look after Cloe. There’s no way Sanji would bring her here. Of course not.

“It’s not like you guys can’t visit me there,” Zoro snaps, glaring at a whining Luffy while Chopper helps him change out of his hospital gown.

“You’re not allowed visitors until your assigned therapist says otherwise,” Robin reminds him. “It may take months before we get to see you again.”

“Not to mention it’s a two hour drive from here,” Usopp adds.

“And visitors are only allowed during the weekend,” Chopper finishes. “So don’t complain.”

Zoro rolls his eyes but keeps quiet. Honestly, he’s a little nervous about the transfer. He knows things will only get worse before they get better. He will be locked in a building with other recovering addicts, away from his friends, and temptation will come again. One day, it will be too much and he may very well fall again.

He’s not entirely clean, Chopper helps him out with mild sedatives that alleviate some of his symptoms, but things will be different at Foosha Mental Health Clinic.

“Everything will be fine,” Franky says, patting him on the back. Zoro looks up at him, smiling softly when he sees the wide grin on his friend’s face. “Luffy knows the therapist helping you out, and Robin is well known there with all the workers. They’ll keep us well-posted about you.”

His therapist’s name is Shanks. Zoro finds the name slightly familiar, but he can’t quite place him. Perhaps Luffy mentioned it once? Just like Usopp said, it takes a little bit over two hours to arrive at what is soon to be his new home. Or prison, whichever seems more fitting.

Zoro is a special case, he knows. He’s an inmate, one considered dangerous at that, and the only reason why he’s being allowed to attend a rehabilitation clinic with civilians is because he knows Robin. And he knows Luffy, who is pretty well connected.

Still, the van driving him to Foosha is empty but for Zoro and four other guards, all heavily armed. They put the radio on blast, buy snacks for Zoro, and joke around, but they never drop their guard. Their hands never leave their guns and they never look away from Zoro.

They’re friendly, not stupid.

Out of the four, only two enter the facility with him. They will be with him during his stay here, guarding him. He’s pretty sure their names are Hewitt and Ross, though he still isn’t sure which one is which.

He has to check-in. He doesn’t do any talking, one of his guards speaking on his behalf. The guy knows him pretty well. Name, age, reason for being here, yada-yada. He won’t have a roommate, at least not until he proves he won’t kill anyone in his sleep. He’ll meet with his therapist every day and with time, those meetings will turn to three times a week, then once, until he’s released.

“He will speak with his therapist first,” the pretty nurse tell his guard. “We will check his belongings and assign his room. He will have to change into these scrubs and shoes. No metal, no belts, earrings will have to be turned in, cellphone if he has one.”

“Zoro, earrings,” the guard orders him.

Zoro stares at him, raising his cuffed hands. Not only are his wrist cuffed together, but there’s a chain around his arms, keeping them close to his chest to minimize his movement. Apparently, having fought Mihawk and survived marks him as dangerous.

Probably killing a guy in cold-blood—even if Robin managed to scratch that off as self-defense—marks him as dangerous, too.

“I’ll take them off,” the second guard says, giving a Zoro a look that’s asking for permission even though he goes ahead and does it anyway. Zoro appreciates it, though. Makes him feel like he has an option when he doesn’t.

He tilts his head to the side, letting the guard carefully take off his three earrings. The nurse places them in a little plastic bag.

“All your belongings will be returned upon your release,” she tells him. “Go change, bring me back your clothes, then go meet with Shanks.”

His new clothes consist of pale blue scrubs and plastic shoes of the same color. At least they gave him cotton socks. Actually, all the clothes are pretty comfortable. They don’t make his wound itch, they’re pretty light, and they smell slightly of fabric softener.

The guards don’t give him privacy, but Zoro has never been self-conscious about his body. Not even now that his chest looks like something out of a horror movie. The nurse takes his regular clothes, put everything in a plastic bag along with his earrings, and writes his name and a series of numbers.

“Follow me,” she says, and leads the way.

Shanks is a tall man, taller than Zoro. He’s well-built and has fiery red hair combed back. What’s most surprising is that he has three scars on his left eye, similar to Zoro’s, but they don’t cut through his eye like Zoro’s did.

“You must be Roronoa Zoro!” the man greets him brightly. “C’mon, sit down! I don’t bite.”

Zoro shuffles forward and sits down in the comfortable chair. This is the man that’s going to rule his life for the next year and half. This man’s help is what’s going to dictate his recovery.

“Don’t be so tense!” Shanks says, laughing. “Today we’re just having a short talk. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other soon, so I want you to see me as someone you can talk to. Let’s see…I have your files right here.”

Zoro tries to read the pages upside down, but Chopper has always had pretty horrible handwriting. All doctors seem to write horribly.

“Seems pretty straightforward,” Shanks says. “Drug-addiction, depression, violent behavior—.”

“I’m not depressed,” Zoro interrupts and Shanks look up at him, surprised.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not depressed,” Zoro says again, angrily.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Zoro,” Shanks says quietly. “Depression is often attached to drug-addiction, sometimes even the cause of it. It’s perfectly—.”

“I’m not depressed,” Zoro growls, blinking when he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder pushing him back down on his seat. When did he stand up?

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, only relaxing when he feels the hand leave his shoulder.

“Chopper thinks I’m depressed?” he asks quietly, his eyes still closed.

“He was treating you for it,” Shanks nods. “I will keep the same medications he was using until I learn about your situation a little better. This right here is your schedule, you will be meeting with me twice a day, after breakfast and before dinner. Your schedule will be pretty strict at the beginning, but as soon as we start seeing progress, I’ll be able to loosen the reigns a bit.”

Zoro nods. As soon as he learns to control his temper. He scratches his knee distractedly, feeling that urge increase. Every time he felt angry, he used to take a hit. Every time he felt sad, upset, anything other than numb…he took a hit. But now he can’t. He has to deal with his emotions, he has to learn how to control them.

“Chopper mentioned you like working out,” Shanks says, distracting him. “We have a pretty cool gym, so once you’re better, we can give you an hour of recreation. Who knows, maybe we can even get some wooden swords for you. I’m a pretty good swordsman myself, you know.”

Zoro nods, thankful. “That would be nice,” he forces himself to say.

Shanks smiles. “I think you’ll do fine here, Zoro. Why don’t I take you to your room so you can get settled? I’m sure your neighbors will like to greet you.”

Zoro makes a face and one of his guards gives him a warning look. Shanks leads the way out, making conversation with the both of them. Apparently, the one with the short-cropped auburn hair is Ross and the dark-haired one is Hewitt. Ross is the quiet of the two while Hewitt seems a little friendlier, though he seems to have an always present scowl, like Zoro.

Zoro’s room is a small one. Just big enough for a plain single bed and a small night stand for his clothes. There’s nothing else. The bed is bolted to the ground, as is the night stand, and the window is too small for anybody to fit through it. At least the floor is carpeted.

“Mail arrives every week on Saturdays,” Shanks tells him. “You don’t have visitation hours yet, but you can write letters to your friends. Perhaps ask for pictures to liven up the place.”

It’s going to take a lot more than pictures to make his room look anything less than a prison cell. But then, Zoro is a prisoner. He’s surprised the windows aren’t barred.

“Thank you,” Zoro says quietly.

“You’re very welcome! Well, let me give you some time alone. Oh, lunch is in two hours, so don’t miss that!”

He’s not particularly hungry, but Chopper and Sanji have both yelled at him to eat even when he’s not hungry. He’s lost a lot of weight, and the only reason why he doesn’t look like a walking skeleton is because he used to be pretty buff.

Hewitt takes off the cuffs around his feet and hands, then walks out to stand guard at his door with Ross. Zoro sighs and lays down on the surprisingly comfortable bed.

The ceiling is an off-shell white. Like the walls. Like the carpet. Is he really a prisoner here? He feels like just another patient, sent here by caring friends. With the door closed, he can even forget Hewitt and Ross are outside. He can fall asleep and pretend he’s back in his old apartment, numb after taking a hit, staring blankly at his ceiling, empty inside.

Except, he’s not so empty right now. He’s tired, confused, a little bit angry, nervous, and a bunch of other emotions he doesn’t recognize. He’s not at his old apartment because there’s no weird smell in the room, no strange lumps in the bed, no loud neighbors outside.

This is nothing like it was before.

And he’s still not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing _._

* * *

  _And everything I can't remember_

_As fucked up as it all may seem_

_The consequences that I've rendered_

_I've gone and fucked things up again_

* * *

Everyone has their demons, everyone has skeletons in their closets. Especially in here.

He first meets Bonney. A tall, shapely woman a couple of years older than him, she at first looks normal. But then she sat down next to Zoro during lunch and started talking like they’re old friends. She pointed out random people and started telling their lives’ stories to Zoro…though he’s pretty sure she was lying.

If she wasn’t, then Zoro is sharing the building with a spy, a lost princess, a time-traveller, and a mad scientist.

There’s Cavendish, an attractive blond with wide, blue eyes and pale skin. He’s taller than Zoro, skinnier, hates looking at mirrors, and eats really, really slowly. Perona, at twenty-one, is the youngest in Foosha. She sits by herself, or sometimes with a nurse, and carries a teddy bear everywhere she goes. Zoro only talks to her once—or rather, she talks to him. Looks at him up and down for a few minutes, pinches his cheek really hard, and declares him her boyfriend.

The nurse by her side simply smiles, giving Zoro a meaningful look, then guides Perona away.

He meets Johnny and Yosaku last, and quickly befriends them. Johnny is here for addiction, just like him. Yosaku has anger management problems, though they’ve gotten a lot better. The both of them met here, and quickly became close friends.

Yosaku also has Shanks as a therapist, but unlike Zoro, he doesn’t have any problems with the man.

“You’re only upset now,” Yosaku tells him wisely. “It feels like he’s reading your mind, right? Like he knows everything about you already. But trust me, he’s only trying to help you.”

“I know,” Zoro growls. It doesn’t mean he likes it.

Shanks wants to talk about everything. He makes Zoro go deep into his memories, remember things he thought he’d forgotten.

Shanks wants to know about his father, about his mother, about Kuina, about Sanji.

During their first talk, Shanks brings up his mother. Zoro doesn’t remember her much, she died when he was seven. He remembers she used to have really long hair, black like Kuina’s. Her eyes were the same steely gray as Zoro’s, and her skin was the same tanned shade as his. She used to be kind of short, shorter than Zoro is now, and she was never really slender. No, she had strength to her body, the result of hard work and training. She used to spar against his father all the time, and Zoro remembers her laughter very well. She used to laugh all the time.

She died at home. Heart attack. Kuina and Zoro saw her first, though Zoro only remembers seeing her asleep in bed before Kuina kicked him out of the room. He didn’t really understand why Kuina kept crying, or why his father became stricter. He didn’t really understand that his mother was dead until his father pulled him outside and told him to stop asking for her. She was dead and she was never coming back.

He remembers telling Sanji, remembers the blond saying that they could share mom, even though she was never around.

“And your father?” Shanks asks. “Did he change after your mother’s death?”

“Yeah,” Zoro says, trying to remember that far back. “He was…quieter. Stricter.”

His father was always a strict man. He was a man of tradition, a man of hard habits. He used to always remind Zoro that he was the man of the family after him, as if a kid had any notion of that. He raised Kuina like a boy, treating her femininity with disdain. She wasn’t allowed to wear dresses, was not allowed to play with dolls, was not allowed to do anything but train. Zoro had freedoms she didn’t have, despite the fact that she was older. She wasn’t allowed to hang out with friends, wasn’t allowed to join after-school activities, wasn’t allowed to be social.

“And you, Zoro? How did he treat you?”

“Me? Okay, I guess,” Zoro shrugs. “I mean, he’s a homophobe and I’m bisexual, so we’re not friendly.”

“Is that the only thing?” Shanks asks, his eyes intense. “You two never had problems before you came out?”

Problems? No, not that he remembers. His father was a bastard towards Kuina, but he always treated Zoro well. It’s not like he ever hit them. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, hardly ever raised his voice.

“I never liked the way he treated Kuina,” Zoro says. “That’s about it.”

“You and your sister were close?”

“Yes. She was…everything to me.”

Shanks nods, face thoughtful. “Who cooked in your family, Zoro?”

He frowns, surprised by the odd question. “Kuina.”

“Who took you to school?”

“I walked.”

“Did Kuina walk with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Did she train with you?”

“Yes.”

“And when you were sick? Who gave you medicine?”

“Kuina.”

“And you father, what did he do for you?”

Zoro opens his mouth, then closes it again, thoughtful. “He…worked.”

“And?”

And…and what? Kuina cooked for them, she cleaned the house, she walked Zoro to and from school. She treated his wounds when he got hurt, she bandaged his hands when he had blisters. She put him to bed when he was younger, and she used to defend him against bullies.

His father…he was just a figure. A person that lived with them, someone that brought money home for them to live.

“It sounds to me like you were raised by your sister, not your father,” Shanks says softly. “And to be honest, she sounds more like a mother than a sister.”

She does. Zoro doesn’t ever remember her doing anything for herself. She was always worrying about him, about his father. She was never a kid, not like he was. She wasn’t allowed mistakes, wasn’t allowed to have bad days, wasn’t allowed to be irresponsible.

She was forced to grow up way too soon.

“I…don’t want to talk anymore,” Zoro mutters and Shanks sighs.

“Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

It takes four months for Zoro to be allowed visitation hours. He’s allowed to have visitors only on Saturday mornings, from nine to ten thirty.

Luffy, Usopp, and Brook come first.

“Zoro!” Luffy shouts, wrapping his arms around Zoro and hugging him tightly. “I missed you!”

“Goddamn it, Luffy! I can’t breathe!” he complains, trying to push his friend off.

“He’s been like this all week,” Usopp says, rolling his eyes.

“It didn’t help that you introduced him to Red Bull on the way here,” Brook says and Usopp winces.

“How have you been, Zoro?” Luffy asks, finally letting go of him. “Have you made friends? Isn’t Shanks awesome? Are you getting better? Having fun?”

Yes, he’s made friends. Shanks is okay. He thinks he’s getting better, and no, he’s not having fun. He’s in rehab. Luffy only laughs and pats him in the head, clearly not listening.

The others tell him about life outside Foosha. Kaya is graduating from medical school soon, Brook’s band booked a new gig, Nami got promoted to manager at her job. Robin moved to Texas for a couple of weeks for work, Franky extended his company, and Sanji is thinking about opening a catering business.

It’s a normal conversation. Everyone is going on with their lives. It’s just like things used to be, before this whole mess.

“I can’t wait ‘till you get better, Zoro,” Luffy says sleepily, finally crashing after his sugar-high. “Things just aren’t as fun without you around.”

Zoro blinks, surprised by the affectionate remark. When Usopp and Brook leave, dragging Luffy between them, they promise to come back soon. Luffy’s words stick with him through the day.

His friends miss him. Yeah, they’re living their lives, moving on, but they’re not leaving him behind. They’re waiting for him to get better, waiting for him to join them. And he has to make an effort to be better. The urges are less now, the pull of the drugs quiet, but he knows it’s only so easy to fall back again.

If something bad happens, if he becomes too upset…it’s would be too easy to give in.

“Hello, Zoro,” Shanks greets, looking at him over the rim of his glasses. “You’re here early.”

Zoro nods and swallows. “I know. I just…wondered if we could talk?”

Shanks studies him for a moment, then smiles. “Take a seat.”

* * *

  _Why must I feel this way?_

_Just make this go away_

_Just one more peaceful day!_

* * *

 It’s gradual, but he gets better. Five months in and he’s allowed time at the gym. Nine months, and his meetings with Shanks lessen to only three a week.

Twelve months and he’s allowed to visit the Goa facility, Foosha’s sister clinic. It’s basically the same thing as Foosha, except for teenagers. The healthier patients, the ones almost done with their rehabilitation, are asked to visit the teenagers once a week to talk about their problems. It’s supposed to show solidarity or something.

Zoro doesn’t like it. The first time he goes, he sits besides Johnny, only talking to introduce himself.  He prefers to listen. Everyone here is—or was—an addict. There’s a girl, maybe around sixteen, and Zoro can recognize the scars on her arms. There’s a boy, shaking and jittery, and it’s like looking in the mirror. Some of them don’t want to talk, ignoring the counselor when she calls on them. But they listen.

They pay attention when Johnny talks about getting hooked on ecstasy, they listen when Yosaku talks about using PCP to calm his anger problems. They listen when their peers talk about their first time trying out a new drug.

They did it because a friend offered. Because they had problems at home. Because school was too tough. Because they didn’t know any better.

“You’re feeling guilty,” Shanks explains when Zoro shares his thoughts. He’s always sharing now. It’s not as hard as it used to be. “Did you ever deal to kids?”

Zoro nods. “Yeah. I…didn’t really care who it was. Never really saw them as kids, just druggies.”

“Everyone has their reasons for getting hooked on drugs,” Shanks says. “They don’t have to be deep or psychological. Sometimes, kids do it because they see their friends doing it. Because they’re at a party and they’re offered. Because they think they won’t get addicted”

“I know,” Zoro whispers. “I…know all the tricks.”

“Perhaps you should talk to them about that,” Shanks says, continuing when Zoro shakes his head adamantly. “Some of them are not here because they want to, Zoro. Some of them were forced here because of their parents. There are a couple of them who have been here more than once. They detox here, then hit the streets and get hooked again.”

Zoro snorts. “And you think me talking to them is going to make them see straight? I didn’t see straight until Chopper practically pumped the drugs out of me.”

“It never hurts to try,” Shanks says. “Just try and think of them as the same kids you got hooked on drugs.”

Zoro winces guiltily. He doesn’t remember faces. The only one that sticks out is Jackson, and that’s only because Sanji mentioned him a about a year ago. He can’t bring himself to hate the other man, even though he was the reason Sanji left, because Zoro fucked up his life pretty badly. He wonders where the guys is…hopefully, he’s getting better.

It takes him a while to warm up to Shanks’ idea. A week passes and more kids join the group. The next week, a couple of them leave. Two weeks later, and they’re back, looking worse.

Zoro stares at a girl. Her hair is dyed black with blue highlights, her natural brown coming in at the roots. She’s pale, eyes sunken, and her nails are painted black. She’s sagging on her seat, her head rolled to the side, and she keeps rolling her eyes every time someone speaks. She looks completely bored.

She perks up when a seventeen year old boy stands up to speak. He talks about dating an older girl, going to the club with her, and taking the pills she offered. He talks about his nervousness, about not wanting to look like a kid, taking the drugs only to fit in. The girl glares at the boy, making a sound of derision when he talks about realizing that woman never really cared for him.

“Rika, do you have something to share?” the counselor asks, her voice sharp. Zoro still hasn’t learned her name even though she introduces herself every time, but she’s good at her job.

“Nope, nothing at all,” Rika says with heavy sarcasm.

The counselor narrows her eyes, staring at her thoughtfully. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Rika?”

She sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. “Hey, guys. I’m Rika Shells, I’m sixteen years old, and apparently, I’m addicted to MDMA.”

Zoro snorts. “At least you got that right.”

The counselor glances at him, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Nobody’s really addicted to MDMA, at least not in here,” Zoro explains.

“That’s what I keep saying,” Rika says, grinning at him. “I’m not some druggie.”

“Oh no, you are,” Zoro says. “Just not MDMA. I mean, unless you’re some rich daddy’s little girl, you can’t afford it.”

Rika glares at him, insulted. “Oi, fuck you, old man. You don't know me.”

Old man. Wow, never been called that. “Let me guess…party girl. You don’t really do good at school, you’re not like other girls. You think you’re better than the cheerleaders, the popular crowd. You hang out with older kids because you’re just that special.”

Rika blushes and Zoro grins. Right in the mark. “First time you ever used, some guy offered it to you,” Zoro continues. “You were kind of nervous, but just like that guy over there, you didn’t want to look like a little kid. That’s how they get you, you see. Little kids always want to seem older than they are. You know what we call kids like you? Easy prey.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rika hisses, glaring at him with pure venom in her eyes.

Zoro’s eyes narrow. “You think so? I was a pretty good dealer myself, you know. So let me paint you a picture…you’re not really popular at school, I’m judging by the dark hair and nails. If you were allowed, you would probably be wearing dark eyeliner as well. You’re here, which tells me your parents care about you. You got pretty upset about what I said, so you care about them, too. Close relationship, then. That means the drugs got to you through the wrong crowd. Perhaps a friend, someone you met.”

Rika’s eyes shift to the side, a dead giveaway. It’s kind of scary, how easy Zoro can read here. Was this really what he did back at Dressrosa? He doesn’t remember thinking of it like this, doesn’t remember finding it so cold and calculated.

“Someone you met, then,” Zoro says, and Rika’s eyes snap to him, wide and panicked. “Older friend, with connections. You’re too young for any respectable bouncer to let you through, even with a fake I.D., so whoever they are, they’re pretty used to bringing in new clients. Most of the time, they’re druggies themselves, trying to pay off a debt by working it off. You were just collateral.”

“Gina’s my friend,” Rika snaps and Zoro snorts.

“Sure she is. Did she also introduce you to the guy who gave you your first hit?” he asks and smirks when Rika blushes. “She did. Of course she did. And let me bet…this guy, he says you’re not like the other girls. He’s older than you, but he likes you because you’re mature. Age doesn't matter, it’s just a number, but your parents won’t understand, so it’s best if you keep him a secret. He doesn’t want you to meet his friends, doesn’t really care about meeting your friends either. Doesn’t let you look at his phone, doesn’t care enough to be seen in public with you. You only ever talk to him at the club, he only ever talks to you when you’re willing to buy. How in the mark am I?”

Rika is pale and her  eyes are wide, her hands fisted on her knees. Zoro hit it right on the mark. It’s not always likes this, but tricks of the trade tend to well-known around the circuit. Teenagers are often the easiest, so willing and desperate to find love.

Zoro sighs and softens his voice, feeling a little sorry for this girl. “Dealers are salesmen, simple as that. And a good salesman knows what their client wants. Most of the time, it’s not drugs. So they have to find a way to make you want them.”

“Is that what you did, brother?” Johnny asks him quietly, looking at him with somber eyes.

Zoro glances at him and runs a hand through his hair. “If dealers are salesmen, I was the bill collector,” Zoro says. “But yeah, once in a while, I did bring in new clients.”

“Thank you for sharing with us, Zoro,” the counselor says and Zoro shrugs. “Anyone else wants to speak?”

Someone else nods and starts speaking, taking the room’s attention. Zoro keeps Rika in his sight; the girl keeps her gaze locked on the floor, her posture tense, her shoulders sagging.

It’s strange, seeing them on this side of the fence. He didn’t see them as people back then. Didn’t see them as kids. Didn’t see them as anything else than a piece of flesh to beat into the ground so he could get paid and get his next fix.

How many girls did he sleep with, pretending to love them? How many times did he kiss them with pills in his mouth? How many people did he befriend, how many did he sell to, how many are now in facilities like this one, talking about their first time using through him?

How many of them hate Zoro for ruining their lives?

When the class is dismissed, Zoro can’t stop himself from approaching Rika. Hewitt grabs his shoulder, his hand on the handle of his gun as a warning, and gives him a meaningful look.

He’s a prisoner. He can’t just follow after a girl. But Rika is looking at him now, her eyes nervously shifting back and forth from Zoro to Hewitt.

“Rika, I…” Zoro stops, racks his brain for the right words to use. “He has a nickname for you, right?” Her eyes narrow and she scowls, so Zoro quickly hurries through the rest. “Look, when you see him again—and yeah, I know you’re planning on seeing him again—just…ask him if he knows your name. Your full name.”

“Of course he does,” she growls, defensive.

“If he uses a nickname, then he doesn’t,” Zoro says. “Trust me…he has the same nickname for all the girls he’s duping; it’s easier to remember than a name.”

“Roronoa, let’s go,” Ross barks.

“I’m coming,” Zoro snaps back, rolling his eyes.

Rika isn’t there the next week, nor the one after that. Zoro tells himself he’s not worried, but when she shows up, six weeks later, he finds himself breathing out in relief. And when she thanks him, eyes on the floor and ears flaming red, it feels…right.

Like he’s finally found something worth doing with his life.

* * *

  _And it's been awhile_

_Since I could look at myself straight_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I said I'm sorry_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I've seen the way the candles light your face_

_And it's been awhile_

_But I can still remember just the way you taste_

* * *

 Every one visits him, some less often than others. Robin has only visited him four times in the past seventeen months, Nami seven, and Sanji nine times. Everyone else tries to come at least once a month. Zoro understands that is harder for some of them to take the time to visit him.

Robin has her job, which takes her everywhere in the country. Nami has more responsibilities at work, she can’t just up and leave. Sanji is busy with the beginning stages of his new catering business, not to mention he’s raising a one year old daughter.

He knows they are all planning to come next month, since he’s being transferred to Detroit at the end of December. The others thought it would be great to celebrate Chopper’s birthday with Zoro a little early, so he’s not expecting anyone to come this month.

But when he enters the visitation room, flanked like always by Hewitt and Ross, there’s someone waiting for him.

“Sanji, what are you doing here?”

Sanji turns around, startled, and only then does Zoro notices the little girl in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Zoro!” Sanji exclaims, smiling widely, and the baby claps her hands at the sound of excitement in Sanji’s voice.

Oh, that’s right. It’s his birthday today. How old is he again?

“Twenty-six, Zoro,” Sanji says, surprising him. Did he ask that at loud? “No, you didn’t say it at loud. But your stupid face tells me you forgot all about it.”

“Your face is stupid,” Zoro snaps back childishly.

Sanji smirks. “Good one,” he says sarcastically. “C’mon, I brought you a cake.”

Zoro steps forward hesitantly, watching as Sanji sets the little girl on the table to grab the small cake he brought. She sits down on the edge, watching her father light a candle with curious eyes.

She’s…a lot bigger than Zoro remembers her. Well, he only ever saw her in a picture, probably taken minutes after she was born. She’s dressed in a soft yellow geo lace dress with white tights underneath and slip-on yellow shoes. Her hair is a platinum blonde, three shades lighter than Sanji’s, and surprisingly curly. Her eyes are huge, just like Sanji’s, but they’re a darker color, almost sapphire. She has pale skin like her father, a small button nose, and long lashes that frame her eyes. But Zoro is more interested in her eyebrows—they’re not as curly as Sanji’s, but he can see the beginning of a curl at the end of her right one and beginning of her left one.

He can’t help it: he laughs.

Sanji glares at him. “What’s so funny, moss-man?”

“She’s starting to grow the curl,” Zoro points out and Sanji blushes. “I thought you said only the men in your family had it.”

“That’s what my mother told me!” Sanji snaps. “Shut up! She’s gorgeous.”

“She is,” Zoro agrees and red of Sanji’s cheeks deepens. “Hopefully your genes won’t ruin that for her.”

“Ha. Ha,” Sanji says sarcastically. “Stop making fun of little girls and come eat your cake.”

“I’m not making fun of her, I’m making fun of _you_ ,” Zoro corrects, but he does as he’s told and sits down next to Sanji.

Sanji knows very well his dislike for sweet things, so the cake in front of him is not a traditional birthday cake. It’s a carrot cake, topped with creamy frosting and chopped walnuts. It’s beautifully presented, like everything Sanji does, and it smells amazing.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Sanji, Zoro would have never tasted a vegetable in his life.

“Want me to cut you a piece?” Zoro asks Sanji as he cuts himself a piece.

Sanji nods, distracted with Cloe as he picks her up to settle her in his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist to secure her. The baby girl looks at Zoro with wide, curious eyes.

“You want me to cut her a piece?” he asks hesitantly, a little unnerved by the girl’s stare.

“Make mine a little bigger and I’ll give her from there. She won’t finish a slice on her own,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods and turns his attention to the cake. He cuts out a slice for Hewitt and Ross as well since he knows Sanji hates eating when someone else in the room isn’t. The man could be starving, yet he would still share the food off his plate.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Sanji asks him quietly as the silence between them stretches. “I…really wanted to be here for your birthday, but I couldn’t find anybody to watch Cloe.”

“It’s fine,” Zoro says quietly. “Just…um, are you okay with bringing her here?”

Sanji frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Zoro snorts. “This isn’t a spa, cook. I mean, the people here aren't exactly the best influences. Including me.”

Sanji gives him a flat look. “Is that what you’re worried about?” he asks, incredulous. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hey, I’m just being honest! I mean—.”

“Zoro, this building is full of people that made mistakes—like every _human_ does—and are _trying to fix them_. Including you,” Sanji snaps.

“I’m an inmate, Sanji,” Zoro reminds him. “And an ex-drug addict. I’m a _murderer_.”

“I trust you.”

Zoro stares at Sanji. The other man is confident, his resolve clear. He’s being honest right now, he _trusts_ Zoro.

“I…Sanji, I…”

“I understand if you’re uncomfortable,” Sanji continues. “I know…this isn’t easy for you. But I…if it’s possible….if you want…” Sanji stops and bites his lip. Zoro doesn't say anything, knowing the chef is struggling to find the right words. “I just want you to know…I’m proud of you,” Sanji says quietly. “Of everything you’re doing. Of how far you’ve come. I’m proud to be your friend.”

Zoro stares at the table, ears red and heart pounding. It’s moments like these, when Sanji speaks his mind, when he drops the bullshit and the pretence, that Zoro feels like things can change between them.

He’s shared his feelings with Shanks. He has spent many days, weeks, _months,_ thinking about the way he feels for Sanji. And never has he doubted his feelings.

But they’ve grown healthier. Because he understands now that he doesn’t have to be with Sanji romantically for them to love each other. He sees now that his friendship with Sanji doesn’t mean his feelings are negated, nor does it mean that Sanji won’t ever care for him.  

He understands it, but he didn’t really believe it until now. There was always that small shadow of a doubt inside of him, that small whisper of insecurity.

But like Shanks has told him a thousand times, he won’t ever know for sure unless he talks about it. He can’t expect for his feelings to be understood if he stays silent. It’s an old habit, created after years of living with a father that downplayed his feelings and taught him that men aren’t supposed to show they care, but it’s something he’s trying to fix.

And he’s gotten better at it.

“She’s really pretty,” Zoro says quietly. “She looks a lot like you.”

“Are you calling me pretty, Roronoa?” Sanji jokes.

“Yes,” Zoro says simply, enjoying the way Sanji’s entire face turns red.

Sanji clears his throat and drops his gaze. “Um…do you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” he asks nervously and Sanji smiles gently.

“She’s really friendly,” he says. “Hold your hands out for her.”

Zoro holds his hands out and smiles at her, hoping his face won’t scare her. He knows he looks mean enough that even some adults get nervous around him. Cloe stares at his hand, then up at him, then back at his hands.

And then she holds her hands out and Zoro grabs her, pulling her into his lap. She looks up at him, gaze curious, then promptly ignores him in favor of sinking her hands into Zoro’s half-eaten cake.

“Cloe, no,” Sanji says, but Zoro only laughs.

“It’s okay,” Zoro assures him. “Is it tasty?” he asks Cloe, grinning when the baby looks up at him. She smiles widely, and pops her hand in her mouth, eating the crumbling cake. Sanji makes a face as her face smears with cream, but there’s fondness behind it.

“I think Cloe’s got the right idea here, cook,” Zoro says, giving Sanji a wide grin. “Good cake is eaten with fingers.”

“Don’t be gross,” Sanji snaps, but Zoro is already sinking his fingers in the leftover cake, leaning forward so his chest touches the girl’s little back. Cloe squeals in delight, copying Zoro, then waves her little fist towards Sanji, sending food flying everywhere.

“You’re gonna mess up her outfit, moron!”

“Aw, she wants to feed you. C’mon, open up wide, cook.”

In the end, Cloe does mess up her outfit. She has cream all over her dress and face, as do Zoro and Sanji. The cake gets eaten, mostly off each other, and even though Sanji complains the whole time, he does so with a laugh and tender eyes.

The whole time, Cloe sits on Zoro’s lap, her weight a surprisingly warm comfort.

* * *

  _And everything I can't remember_

_As fucked up as it all may seem to be I know it's me_

_I cannot blame this on my father_

_He did the best he could for me_

* * *

 It’s already fifteen minutes into their last meeting, and Shanks hasn’t spoken a word. He’s just sitting there, staring at Zoro calmly, the tips of his fingers pressed together and resting against his mouth. He looks a little like a movie-villain, what with the scar and red hair.

Zoro doesn’t mind the silence. He has never _enjoyed_ his meetings with Shanks, but he finds them helpful. Educational, even. But that doesn’t mean he wants to spend the entire day locked up in here.

“Alright, I give in. What’s with the silence?” Zoro asks,

“Just thinking,” Shanks answers finally. “This is our last meeting.”

“It is,” Zoro agrees. “I’ll be transfered to Impel Down at midnight.”

“Luffy sent a request for a special visitation,” Shanks informs him. “Apparently, one of your friend’s birthday is coming up soon.”

“Chopper’s. It’s at the end of the week.”

“Ah. Yes, well…I’ve set apart the conference room on the second floor for you. Some of your friends here have also asked permission to spend time with you before you have to leave. I hope you don’t mind that I granted it.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow. “You do remember I’m an inmate, right?”

“And this isn’t a prison,” Shanks reminds him. “That’s a good mentality to have, but save it for when you’re actually in prison. For now, just enjoy my good mood.”

“Any reason why you’re in a particularly good mood?”

Shanks grins. “As a matter of fact, there _is._ I’ve been speaking with Makino about your work in Goa. You’ve been helping a lot of kids in there.”

Zoro makes a face, uncomfortable. “I’m just scaring them into getting out of drugs.”

“I still haven’t been able to fix that habit of yours,” Shanks sighs. “How can you be so cocky with some of your abilities, yet drastically ignore others? Retention percentages have gone up since you’ve started talking to them—you’re _helping_ them.”

It doesn’t feel like helping. He’s just trying to do his best to stop kids from going down the same path he went. It’s not like he’s doing anything special, he’s just sharing his experience, letting them know how the world works out there.

“How would you like to continue that work?”

“What do you mean?” Zoro asks, confused. “You mean, keep coming to the weekly meetings?

“The conditions of your sentence do not allow you to travel outside prison during your stay there, regardless of good behavior; not to mention it’s a ten hour drive to Detroit,” Shanks says, shaking his head. “However,if you haven’t given any thought to what you’ll do after serving your sentence, I want you to consider a job as a substance abuse counselor. Perhaps even join my staff.”

Zoro stares at Shanks, shocked. “What?” he gasps.

“I think you’ll do very well here,” Shanks says. “Of course, you’ll have to be certified with GACA, it’s going to take time and effort, but I think you can do it. You don’t have to decide anything today…just give it some thought.”

Shanks hands him a pamphlet, and Zoro takes it hesitantly, trying to return the smile Shanks offers him, though he doesn’t know how successful he is.

“You can go now, Zoro. I bet your friends are already waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Zoro hears himself say, though his mind is still on the pamphlet in his hand. It stays there until he arrives at the conference room, where just like Shanks said, the others are waiting for him.

“Zoro!” Luffy yells. “C’mon, Sanji, he’s here already. Can I eat?”

“No!” Sanji snaps. “Wait, you damn glutton!”

“But Sanji~!”

Zoro ignores Luffy’s whining in favor of greeting Chopper. “Happy birthday, Chopper.”

“Thank you, Zoro!” his young friend exclaims. “Happy belated birthday to you, too!”

“Alright, alright. We only have two hours, so let’s skip the greetings and get celebrating!” Franky cheers. “Zoro-bro, come join me over here. We have eggnog!”

There’s a feast in the small conference, just like the ones they used to have before. Sanji made everything, of course, and there’s presents for everybody (except Zoro, who can’t bring belongings with him to prison). Johnny stops by, even though he’s already been released, and apologizes for Yosaku’s absence, since he’s busy at work. Even Perona shows up, though she doesn’t stay long since she’s terrified of Usopp.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Zoro tells hims quietly.

The two hours are up sooner than Zoro wanted, and then it’s time to say goodbye. Luffy practically jumps him, blubbering all over him, and Usopp pretends he’s not affected at all by simply patting him on the back. Nami and Robin hug him, and Sanji blows a fuse when the two women kiss him on the cheek.

Sanji has Cloe in his arms, so Zoro hesitates before offering his hand for a handshake. But Sanji simply rolls his eyes and pulls him into a tight hug, burying his head on the crook of Zoro’s neck. He’s frozen for a moment, before his body naturally relaxes and he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s narrow waist.

He feels something hitting his head softly and pulls back a little to see Cloe smiling at him and trying to pat his head.

“C’mon, Cloe, give Zoro a kiss goodbye,” Sanji says, one of his arms still around Zoro’s waist. The little girl giggles and smacks her hands into Zoro’s cheeks before giving him a wet kiss.

“Uh, thanks,” Zoro says, not knowing whether it would be rude to wipe the slight wetness she left behind right away.

Sanji laughs and wipes it for him, and just for a moment, Zoro can see his eyes lock on his lips. Sanji looks up at him, a little frozen, his hand still on Zoro’s cheek.

He thinks Sanji is going to kiss him. He _hopes_ Sanji is going to kiss him. Fuck, he wants Sanji to kiss him so bad.

But Sanji doesn’t. He only smiles softly, pats his cheek clean, and steps back.

And then there’s Franky, bursting into tears, and Brook, who pats his shoulder and gives him a small smile. And before he knows it, his opportunity is gone and his friends are leaving. Hewitt and Ross guide him back to his room, where he pulls out the pamphlet Shanks gave him, crumpled but still legible.

He thinks back to his friends, to everything they have done for him. He thinks of Robin, who risked so much in her job to get him here, of Nami who bravely fought against him that day in the hospital. He thinks of Usopp and his brave stories, of Luffy’s determined eyes locked into his as Chopper delivered Koro’s cure. He thinks of Franky bursting into tears, of Brook coming every day to visit him, never missing a day.

He thinks of Chopper, of the way his face would crumple every time Zoro spit venom at him, the way his shoulders would sag every time he walked into the room, the way his hands shook as he stitched together Zoro’s chest, leaving scarred into him all of his fears and sorrows.

He thinks of Sanji, of his ‘ _I love you_ ’ and his ‘ _I’m sorry’._

He thinks of the way Sanji’s eyes shone when he said ‘ _I’m proud of you’._

He owes his life to his friends. His sanity, his clarity, his future…he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them. And he wants to make something of this opportunity they’ve given him, wants to make them proud.

This is separate from his goal to defeat Mihawk; separate from the aching love he feels for Sanji; this is a chance to better himself, to pay for his mistakes.

It will be hard and it will take time. He will face many obstacles, but he feels like this is something he _needs_ to do. This is his one chance to change his life for the better, and he’s not going to let it go to waste.

He looks at the pamphlet, the words _Georgia Addiction Counselor Association_ written in neat, curled lettering, and starts reading.

* * *

  _And it's been awhile_

_Since I could hold my head up high_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I said I'm sorry_

**Author's Note:**

> Like always, a huge thanks to my beta Zosanlaw.  
> Song It's Been A While by Staind.


End file.
